


Forgotten Treasures

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, Musical Performance, Retirement, Supportive husbands being supportive to each other, Taking A Trip, cooking together, old married spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: Retirement blues has hit Jim hard, but Spock knows just what to do. Unexpectedly, he might find some of his own missing pieces along the way as well.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 25
Kudos: 83





	Forgotten Treasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burning_spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_spirit/gifts).



> Dedicated to my amazing friend, burning_spirit, or otherwise lovingly known on tumblr as jimkirkachu. <33333 I highly recommend their writing, so if you're looking for a tidal wave of space husbands feelings and greatness, please be sure to check their work out!

**.*Forgotten Treasures*.**

“Jim, if you insist that you are well, must you continue to pace?”

Mid-stride before the minibar, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trousers, Jim stopped and turned toward the dining table just off the kitchen. His eyes fell upon Spock sitting in his chair; he hadn’t touched his tea and had apparently been watching his movements all this time with the faintest hint of apprehension.

As his spine relaxed, Jim’s shoulders slumped a little. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, and scanned the white paint as though he were seeking something of importance. “Sorry,” he offered, the fingers on one hand beginning to tap at his thigh through the fabric.

He remained liked this for some time, and when visual contact eventually returned, Jim became aware that neither Spock’s attention nor disposition had changed. He immediately pulled his hands from his pockets and turned back to the bar.

“Okay. I’ll admit it,” Jim declared as he reached for a full bottle of blue alcohol and an empty glass. “I’m going stir crazy.” The glass was set down with a pointed tap on the small counter, and he began pulling at the intricate cork with his bare hands.

If there was one thing Romulans and Vulcans had in common besides a very distant shared ancestry, it would be attention to detail. The fancy container of this ale was no exception to that rule—and it was already living up to its expectations, touted as the most potent and luxurious of Romulan liquors. Jim could believe it just from his current efforts; if it was _this_ difficult to open, it _had_ to be good.

Holding the bottle by the neck at his side, Jim’s lips pulled taught as he began tugging forcefully at the exposed end of the cork. “The purposelessness is killing me,” he added, light strain present in his words. When he heard the sound of Spock’s chair pushing backward against the hardwood floor, he raised his eyes and immediately clarified, “Not literally, Spock.”

Light as the breeze, Spock drifted over to where Jim struggled and reached out, gently removing the bottle from beneath his arm. With a quiet expression, he held it gracefully in one palm. Next came a calculated twist and pull, the cork at last extracted with a sharp pop, and Spock stepped up to the shelf.

“Jim.” His voice was deep and soft, flowing forth from his lips like honey, as he tilted the bottle and allowed the blue liquid to spill into the glass. “Did you not wish to retire?”

The answer came fast. “No. That’s not what I—”

Setting the ale down, Spock lifted the tumbler and turned, intentionally stopping when he stood directly before Jim. The hand holding the glass was trapped between their chests and served as the only barrier to prevent them from touching. He said nothing, simply tilted his head and lifted his brows.

With his lashes falling for a moment, Jim exhaled and nearly laughed—nearly, but not quite. “I’m overreacting.”

“Perhaps and perhaps not. Your concerns merit validity, even if I do not agree with them. It is a big change, and a larger adjustment. I believe it will take time.” A beat. “It has only been a week.”

Jim raised his palm to cup the bottom of the glass but made no further effort to pull it from Spock, just as Spock made none to release it. He barely squinted. “Is that you saying in a nice way that you think I’m being illogical, Mister?”

“I will point out,” Spock began matter-of-factly and with a twinkle in his dark eyes, “that retirement was your suggestion and a mutually agreed-upon course of action.”

Pursing his lips, Jim finally took the ale and allowed himself the indulgence of a sip. The liquor burned with the first swallow and had him smacking his lips on the exhale—had his voice a little raw when he replied, “I know.”

“I know your greatest desire is to be on the bridge of a starship. It is what was written in your destiny, what you were meant to do.” Spock’s lips curled in for a moment. “However, there is no ship. And to resign your life to the monotony of sitting at a desk for the rest of your years…” He shook his head. “ _That_ would not be logical. Do you truly see no purpose to your life beyond duty, Jim?”

With a sigh heaved heavy on the surrender, Jim swept a hand up and back through his grayed hair. “I’m sorry.” His chest puffed out upon a deep inhale and he stood a little taller while repeating with a stronger tone, “I’m sorry. You know I’m happy with you, that I…” Jim’s lips twitched at the corners and then pulled into a soft smile. “That I _want_ to be with you, that I always enjoy our time together.”

Spock reached for him as he spoke, taking purchase of his arm and offering a soft squeeze.

“And you’re right,” Jim continued, sounding rather captainly. “It’s only been a week.” The facade fell as quickly as it appeared, however. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like time slowed down so much in that damned office, and now it’s completely stopped ever since I left it for the last time. I thought changing things up would make the difference. And maybe…” His features pinched with equal parts of overthinking and concern. “Maybe I’m just worried that it’ll never start back up again, that I’ll never be _useful_ again.”

“To?”

The one-worded question hit hard.

Frustration had Jim’s eyes closing again, had him breathing out another deep exhale, but the gnawing of his nerves was in no way directed at Spock; it was entirely toward himself. “Spock, I’m so sorry. I keep saying that like I’m stuck in some loop.”

“You are more than your title, Jim.” Their gazes met, the sincerity in Spock’s laid bare. “More than what you are capable of offering others, and more than your legacy. You have friends who treasure you. Talents, hobbies, interests…”

At that, Jim placed the neglected glass on the minibar and pulled his husband into an embrace. He felt Spock’s arms cross behind him and inhaled the comforting scent of his robe.

“I have you.”

“You always will.”

Quiet persisted then, a companionable and thoughtful silence while the embrace lasted on and on. It went unbroken until Jim suddenly huffed out a laugh. He pressed his forehead harder unto a willing shoulder and rocked back and forth against it. “I can’t believe this. When did I transform into this impatient, crotchety old man?”

Feeling Spock move to cock his head, he chuckled beneath his breath again at the answer which followed. “Perhaps within the last week.”

“Oh boy. I hear you loud and clear.” Jim lifted his chin and wore a smirk when he found Spock studying him. “An intervention’s needed.” He squared his shoulders, straightened his back, and cleared his throat. “But I’ll try to be lenient on myself…try to accept that this ridiculous mood of mine will improve in time.”

A nod was offered. “It is an auspicious plan, though I wonder what you might think of a suggestion which might supplement it.”

“I’m all ears, Mister.”

Spock inclined his head. “I propose we take a trip to Vulcan.”

~

He was married to a genius, not that this was a new revelation or anything.

Jim hadn’t realized how homesick for the stars he was until they were on board the transport, soaring over celestial waves littered with pearls and rhinestones. He’d watched their prismatic streaks of light at warp and felt as though he’d reconnected with an old friend. Jim _starved_ for space, starved to be among it with his crew again and have just one more go at it with his silver lady.

She would always be his, no matter who was sitting in the captain’s chair of her next iteration. No one could debate this fact, or how staggering the shoes Jim had left were to fill.

Alas, San Francisco tedium was traded for space, and space for the cool comforts of the S’chn T’gai home. Amanda had accompanied Sarek on an ambassadorial tour, their absences leaving the house a silent but inviting place to vacation and, hopefully, clear the thick fog that had both clouded Jim’s mind and dampened his mood.

It felt good to be somewhere so different, among a variance of sights, sounds, and scents. And while Jim was no fan of the desert heat, even an offensive change in temperature shook things up and rattled the cobwebs. He was all too grateful for the air conditioning that waited for them upon arrival, however, and the feel of a sonic shower washing away the sweat of merely towing luggage.

Clean and comfortable, Jim emerged from the washroom as dusk wore on, and walked with clear purpose to the large open kitchen.

“Hey,” he breathed, stepping up behind Spock and wrapping his arms about him under the ivory glow of soft recessed lights. The embrace lasted but a moment before he slid to his husband’s side at the sprawling island counter and surveyed the display of vegetables they’d purchased on their way here. “I feel ten times better after that shower.”

Spock paused his task of chopping cherry tomatoes for the salad he’d been assembling, and looked over his shoulder. “I am pleased to hear it.”

Picking up one of the avocadoes, Jim gave a squeeze to assess its ripeness. “These all washed?”

“Affirmative.”

With a knife from the side drawer, Jim set to work, slicing each avocado long-ways, removing the pit and skin, and dividing those halves into small parallel pieces. Side-by-side, the pair worked, each having agreed to throw together their own meal tonight rather than rely on the replicator. Amanda was never one to balk at modern convenience, but she did make her enjoyment of traditional cooking methods known, and her handmade meals were second to none in Jim’s book.

“We might have to make a weekly tradition out of this,” he spoke up with a laugh. “It’s nice working with you to make something we can enjoy together.”

Spock lifted a curious eyebrow and tossed his tomatoes atop a waiting bed of spinach. “I find that agreeable.”

Grinning, Jim arranged the avocado in neat rows on a fancy plate, then set it aside and turned to his next mission: dicing carrots.

The two went on like this, preparing their meal together amid the typical flirtatious banter they often shared. When everything was said and done and all that remained was waiting for their vegetable medley to finish roasting in the oven, Jim procured a pair of wine glasses from the liquor cabinet. He opened a bottle of Vulcan port, a red wine that wasn’t overbearingly sweet despite its genre, and poured out two servings.

Together, Jim and Spock sat at the dining table, enjoying their first course of Shi’Khar-style salad and avocado, enjoying the flavor of the wine and how it complemented the other tastes and atmosphere. Best of all was the company, though, and for the first time in _some_ time, Jim found himself reflecting on how lucky he truly was.

~

“So? It’s been all these years, and I never did hear you play here,” Jim said with a smile after dinner, lifting his wine toward the polished grand piano in the great room. The ceiling was high and the space open; he could only imagine how beautiful a performance would sound.

“Indeed,” Spock offered in agreement. “I never played this piano again after leaving for Starfleet.”

Jim blinked and tilted his head. “Why?”

A low hum rumbled from Spock’s chest. “My mother, as you know, is musically adept. She was an accomplished flautist and pianist, and the one to teach me these arts. Every day after dinner, she would sit with me and practice. I believe it brought her great happiness.”

“Ah.” Sipping slowly from his glass, Jim could already see where the story was headed.

“However, you are well aware of the division my career path caused within my family. Though matters appear repaired now…” Spock drifted off for a moment. “I am hesitant. My mother endured emotional injury from my departure. I imagine she missed the sound of my playing, and yet…”

“Do _you_ miss it?”

Spock looked pensively to the instrument in question. “I experience a sensation of nostalgia when I see this piano, not regret.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Spock.” Their eyes met and Jim asked, gentle but insistent, “Do you want to play?”

“I am uncertain.”

A gentle pat on the arm followed. “I think you should. It’s after dinner, after all.” With that, Jim stood and wandered over to the tall shelving unit, filled with well-kept musical pieces and the occasional Vulcan decoration for aesthetic pleasure.

Spock exhaled, his lips parting to offer protest, but then simply placed his wine down and followed.

Though Jim felt a pressing urge to reach out and touch the sheet music and books as he sometimes felt inclined with his own reading collection, he stowed that desire out of respect. “Which of these did you enjoy playing the most?”

“There are many memorable pieces,” Spock said, arriving at his side. “My mother seemed particularly fond of Bach Suite in B Minor, especially _Badinerie_. I would sometimes play a modified version of the sheet music, allowing for a duet with her on flute. It was very pleasing. I believe even my father thought so.”

“Ooh,” Jim breathed. “I’d _love_ to hear that if you’re willing.”

“Very well.” Spock’s gaze roved across the shelves. “There was also _Paganini’s Caprice #24_ , a lively piece with faster tempo…ah.” He reached to a small book. “It is here.”

Jim observed, a gentle grin on his face and his eyes filled with affection. “How about one more, if you’re up for it? Surprise me.”

Spock replied with a singular nod, and took several moments to scan the shelves. At last, he withdrew his selection without announcing the name and went to the piano. He pulled back the bench and sat, then freed the keys from their gleaming onyx shroud and ran a contemplative finger over, light as the desert sand in the yard. His hands hovered above them in perfect form then and he allowed his digits a warmup stretch—a rapid and nearly careless striking of keys that still managed harmony. Spock then placed the notes for the first piece by Bach.

A rapid staccato suddenly filled the space, morphing into beautiful melody of varying intensity and speed echoing throughout the house. Jim felt a breath leave his lungs that he hadn’t even realized he held, his attention glued to his husband of so many talents expertly performing the piece as if he’d played every day.

The song was a journey, an exciting one with twists and turns, and Jim could just see Amanda and her flute there with them now. It was clear how she could bond with her son over making such beautiful music and filling the atmosphere with so much life.

Bach concluded and Jim placed his wine down to applaud. “Spock, you’re amazing! How do you do it?! And after all this time?”

“Vulcan genes, Jim.” It was a half joke.

“Oh please. It’s much more than that.” Jim raised his chin and offered some familiar, albeit modified, advice. “You are more than your genes. More than what your half-Vulcan blood offers.”

A dark brow shot up at that, but Spock said nothing more in argument. “Do you wish to hear the next?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you can charm me with your talents all night, Mister.”

Spock’s eyes closed for a beat and he shook his head, before switching out songs.

Indeed, _Paganini’s Caprice #24_ began even livelier than the last, the notes falling in a thrilling cascade and fading into a slower tempo, just to pick right back up. The variance repeated over and over, enthralling Jim with a story which had no words. But, oh, the _feeling_ , and how he _felt_. Energized and in the moment, he nodded with the notes and waved his hand to the euphony consuming him. Spock, too, was into it, moving with the song and even wearing a hint of satisfaction about him.

The eventual conclusion was flawless, a gentle climb in octaves and topped off with a single high key.

“Bravo!” Jim exclaimed, clapping again and finding himself nearly astonished. He’d of course known Spock was musically capable and had heard him on the piano before, but having the privilege of listening to these pieces that truly _meant_ something…now that was indescribable. “Bra _vo_.”

“It is a pleasing thing, Jim, to play again. Thank you.”

Jim almost scoffed. “Thank _you_ , Spock.”

“Very well.” The final sheet was set in place. “Now, this is the piece I selected for you.”

“You know I’m excited.”

Spock hadn’t begun as quickly this time; instead he took several seconds to study his choice, and Jim waited with bated breath and curiosity to find out what it was.

And then, at last, Spock began.

It was a caress, a gentle embrace, a soft kiss bestowed directly upon Jim’s soul. The smile faded from his features and his shoulders fell slightly, a shiver surfing the length of his spine and his heart beginning to beat faster. Wide eyes were glued to Spock as he played a love letter, openly expressing the depth of his affection for Jim over the keys…and then his lashes fell. He continued the piece without sight and Jim felt his knees go weak. A hand covered his mouth and he stumbled to the piano.

 _Salut D’Amour_ by Edward Elgar.

When he read the title, Jim, too, closed his eyes and not just to hold back the tears that threatened to break free. He felt every tender note, every word and thought and feeling Spock wanted to share with him through this music. And when the performance slowed to its end, just as sweet and soft as it had begun, everything was suddenly silent.

It was silent for a long time.

Spock’s lashes parted and he slowly sat up tall with a heavy swallow. He ventured a look over his shoulder and, without meaning to, whispered, “Jim.”

“I love you.” Jim sat beside him on the bench and grabbed the nearest hand, entwining their fingers. “I love you so much,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

A nod came in reply.

“For this song, for this trip.” A beat. “For everything, Spock.”

“Jim, you have nothing to thank me for.” Spock’s fingers tightened with a squeeze. “It is mutual. It has always been.”

Jim’s head came to lay upon his shoulder then, and without a further word, they sat like this for what could have been an eternity of contentment—nothing more and nothing less.

~

“You should play again for your mother,” Jim spoke through the darkness of the bedroom. To his right, he felt Spock shift under the cover and then turned to face him as well. Reaching to stroke a Vulcan cheek, he realized he couldn’t fight smiling even if he tried.

“Perhaps I will.”

“I know it’ll make her happy. Maybe you can even throw in a lute solo so your father doesn’t feel left out.”

An eyebrow twitched. “He would take offense to such a statement.”

“Offense is still an emotion.”

Spock smiled with his eyes and their foreheads touched.

They’d both found something on this journey, and maybe that was the true magic of retirement, Jim mused. It wasn’t about losing purpose or not having reason to simply be any longer; those things had just shifted, along with priorities. It would still take an adjustment period to feel fully comfortable again, but he was certain he could figure it out with Spock—that together they could rediscover forgotten treasures along the way and find new joy in old things.

Surprisingly, on the transport back home, Jim found himself reflecting that time had actually passed much too quickly, that he didn’t just want this trip to end but he wasn’t _ready_ for it to be over. And maybe that was okay.

“Hey, Spock,” he spoke suddenly, gazing out the window.

“Yes, Jim?”

“What do you say to giving Bones a visit when we get back?”

Once more, Spock smiled with his eyes. “It is agreeable.”

Jim grinned back. “Then let’s do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


End file.
